In The Meantime, He Writes
by Insideavoice
Summary: Jess Mariano is a masochist of the worst kind. He stays up on these nights with her in his mind and the broken love he has left in his shell of a heart. Rated T for slight swearing and pure, unadulterated cynicism. "Without you I'll be miserable at best."


**A/N: Just a long winded ramble from Jess's perspective. (I know, I know. As if there aren't enough of those already?) Anyways, it's ****set around the summer after Season 3 but sometime before Liz/TJ's wedding.**

**Inspired by the lovely, heartbreaking, tearful, crazy-beautiful song, **_**Miserable at Best,**_** by the wonderful awesome band, **Mayday Parade**.**

**Enjoy, pretty please?**

In The Meantime, He Writes

_Nothing feels like home  
>You're a thousand miles away<br>And the hardest part of living is just  
>Taking breaths to stay<em>

There are some nights out here inside the cramped one bedroom apartment, sheltered only barely from the superficial glow and chaos of the city night life outside his window when he is just too damn tired to sleep. So exhausted of the same images he'd have to face from behind the back of his heavy lidded eyes. Those nights when a single lonely siren can be heard above it all, calling, howling through the empty sleepless night. When Jess is sure he is the only one left awake to hear the broken _silence_ of the world yet ironically, the only one too powerless and utterly clueless to know anything to do about it.

Him, the high school dropout. Him, who drops everything and runs without so much as a backward glance. Him, who cares not what they all whisper when he crosses a room, a street, a half empty library. Him, who has no idea what the hell he's doing, who finds himself on these nights tearing off the cap of a cheap, ink splattered pen and hastily pulling out the notebook from underneath the pile of clothes on the floor that he fortunately thought to grab before skipping town and finally—_finally_ puts words to paper.

The next morning, it's all chicken scratch, barely legible, accounting for the almost spastic and odd fervor Jess felt is necessary in the night. It's like it just spilled right out of him. Like a jar tipping over and drowning the paper with all his crazy, repetitive-redundant thoughts. No. No, that isn't it. It's more like a glass bottle shattering, leaving broken pieces thrown in with haphazard abandon in a way that hardly makes sense.

But sense doesn't matter to Jess. On nights like these, his mind plays different games—not that "sense" ever really was his thing. But on these nights, Jess lets his mind unravel. Lets himself think. Lets himself wonder, imagine, picture her and the way her life surely moves on without him. The way he isn't the center of her universe anymore—not that he ever was, really. By now, he is certain that he is in some other world entirely.

And now she is on to bigger and better things. And people more deserving than him. Hell, it isn't that hard. Practically anyone is better than him. If it were up to her mother, Jess is sure Adolf would make it higher on that list.

But Jess doesn't care. Not on these nights anyways. These nights he makes himself see it all from a safe, secure distance.

He's a lot of things. For one: a jerk, an idiot who once though he could maybe make something of himself, a moron who cuts class one too may times and gathers not enough credits to even graduate Stars Hollow Fucking High. And besides that, Jess Mariano is a masochist of the worst kind.

At first, he never even realizes what he's doing. His thoughts would stray to her. Always her. And then once he realizes, he still keeps at it. He can't help himself.

Because Jess Mariano feels that he knows he is all of these things—a jerk, an idiot, and yes, he would even go so far as to think to say a "loser." Because really, where is his life headed at this point? Eighteen and not even some small hick town high school diploma to show for it? But because of all of that—all the things he was and was not, all the things he did and the empty, unfulfilling things he failed to do—he stays up on these nights with her in his mind and the broken love he has left in his shell of a heart.

Her, the small town princess, private school girl, high school graduate on the fast track to Yale, with her life so put together, he almost laughs. Because he's just the typical, hard-ass city boy who in all actuality is just some lame pathetic excuse of a man, a hoodlum, a trouble maker, a scaredy-cat. A cowardly old boyfriend who treated her like dirt and ran, leaving without one word and only some lousy telephone message from a pay phone that stank like urine and rotten dreams.

But that's life to Jess.

And for some twisted, perverse reason, he keeps thinking about _her_ life and the way she's surely moved forward. Onward to Europe with her mother for the summer she's always dreamed of. Onward to college and parties and books he knows she'll never discuss with him and boyfriends he'll never meet. Boyfriends who will drive fancy sports cars and have trust funds to fall back on and fathers with money. Boyfriends who will know the right things to say. Yes, Jess Mariano was a masochist. But he is fairly certain he deserves every bit of what's coming to him.

But in the meantime? He writes.

_I can live without you  
>But without you<br>I'll be miserable at best_


End file.
